


Five Nights at Harry's

by LadyEmrys



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: A good old-fashioned hotel au, M/M, and a family wedding with compulsory attendance, and you get five chapters of this lark, throw in a wrongly booked room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEmrys/pseuds/LadyEmrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy lay back against gossamer sheets - sinking into pillows softer than any he'd ever felt, staring at the face of one particularly cheeky cherub - and supposed that maybe the universe had decided to be kind for once.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Maybe.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Nights at Harry's

“Thank you, Mr. Unwin – we’ll let you know.”

_We’ll let you know?_ _No you won’t._

He dejectedly rose from the hard plastic chair, wincing as a prickling sensation spread through the soles of his feet as he stood after having sat for so long. He barely registered clasping the woman’s offered hand in his own clammy grip.

_We’ll Let You Know._

Four words he’d heard more often than not in the last few weeks, each repetition another nail in the coffin of his confidence. Four words uttered with the same look and tone, oscillating between dismissive and apologetic. He was beginning to think they were the only four words he’d be hearing for the rest of his life.  _She’s only trying to be kind –_ he reminded himself, as he returned her friendly smile with a grimace and tried to ignore the pity pinching her face as her eyes roamed over his ill-fitting – obviously borrowed – and rumpled suit. It had been his dad’s, and his mum had tried her best to make it fit him.

He was silent as he marched past the receptionist – mouth tightening into a hard line at her equally pitying look – and reached the door at the end of the hall. Through the glass he spied a young man struggling for the handle under the weight of the books he was carrying. Eggsy reached out to pull it open for him, stepping to the side to let him pass, returning the grateful grin the brunette quickly flashed over the paper stacked to his chin.

“Cheers, mate,” he huffed, “it’s my first day.”

 _Lucky for some –_ Eggsy thought, though would never dream of commenting, instead wishing the man the best of luck.  _Even jobless and down on his luck, he was nothing if not a gentleman._

The sky – he noticed, as he turned his collar up against the chill – seemed greyer than it had that morning, and as he peered closely at the heavy clouds brushing the peaks of the tall, glass buildings, he figured they were in for one hell of a downpour. He was, unfortunately, proven right, just as he reached the crowded bus stop at the end of Oxford West, and was left to lean against the freezing glass – far out of reach of the slanted overhang – and founder in the accuracy of his prediction. An errant droplet of rain collected on the rim of the overhang, and as it grew too heavy to stick, it fell to the earth, missing it by about five feet and landing right in the space between Eggsy’s collar and neck.

_He shivered as it trickled it’s way down the curve of his spine._

By the time the bus - his first of three on the unreasonably long journey home – pulled into the stop, his home-tailored suit was drenched and clinging to the wet shirt beneath, the icy chill seeping through the layers of cloth and into his damp skin.  _Late again –_ he thought, bitterly, as he climbed aboard and fumbled with his change, dropping into a seat near the front and slouching against the scratchy fabric. He was on his feet almost in an instant, as an elderly man unsteadily approached the metal railing protruding from the floor and – after a worried glance towards the back of the bus – gripped it between spindly fingers. Eggsy, catching his eyes with a raised hand, grinned and gestured to the seat he was sitting in. He pulled himself up with a huff and ushered the older man into the seat, turning his back against the crowd of fussing school children for fear that one of them would try to muscle in.

_Kids have no fuckin’ respect these days._

The older man – with Eggsy’s hand on the crook of his elbow – slowly bent his stiff knees and lowered himself onto the seat, lifting his speckled head to thank Eggsy with a crooked smile. Eggsy waved him off, catching himself from stumbling forward as the bus pulled away from the stop – the driver slamming his fist into the horn at the sudden appearance of a cyclist, only to receive a raised finger in return – and shrugged. “Sorry ‘bout the damp patch,” he muttered.

Watery, grey eyes roamed across his sodden, home tailored suit, and Eggsy suspected the clouding of those eyes was suddenly less as a result of cataracts, and rather a lot more as a result of pity. He schooled his downtrodden expression and flashed his most winning grin, spending the next twenty minutes amicably chattering away with the old man, nodding when his tone seemed to require it, for he couldn’t quite pick out all the words through the muddled accent.

An hour and a half later, and the last of Eggsy’s buses stuttered to a halt at the stop near the corner of his estate and he hurried his way to the front, offering a muffled apology to the driver as he shouldered past the two sour-looking women crowded at the door. “ _Just ‘urry up.”_

No sooner had his feet hit the pavement, did the doors snap shut behind him as the bus roared to life. Eggsy quickly sidestepped away from the edge of the curb, successfully avoiding most of the wave of leaf-strewn water that was tossed up by the bus’s wheels. His already soaking feet were not so lucky. He turned to glare at the driver as he sped off, screeching along the glistening black river of tarmac that wound its weary way through the towering maze of cinderblock, dirty brick and rust-stained concrete. With a huff, Eggsy turned his collar against the worst of the wind, and trusted his feet to carry him along the familiar path to his stairwell, and allowed his mind to wander over excuses to give his mum.

_Lost another one mum._

_I’m sure they’ll call mum, but I’ll go to that one when we get back just in case, yeah?_

_Fuck it._

_I’m shite mum. I’ll never get another job._

As the sky overhead began to clear, leaving nothing but the bite of the wind whistling through the entryways and around passages, the blonde’s feet dutifully stopped him catching the left side of the crumbing fourth step from the top of his stairwell. He eyed the splintering concrete for a moment, before moving on, making a mental note to tell his mum to use the south stairwell if she had the pram, even if it was a longer route. He fell through his front door as a particularly harsh gust of wind caught his back, and shucked his dripping jacket onto one of the mismatched kitchen chairs as he heard his mother call to him from the other room.

“That you, babes?”

Eggsy grunted his reply and turned to find his sister, Sophie – one hand covered in what was undoubtedly an entire packet of squishy petits filous, the other stuck between the only two teeth she had – reaching out to him with a gurgle. He grinned as he toed off his shoes, grimacing at the feeling of his wet feet on the cold floor, and made to pluck her from her playpen. He stopped short and flinched at his mother’s screeching.

“ _Oh no you don’t!_ I can dry that suit, but I ain’t got time to clean it – scoot!”

Michelle nudged her son to the side with her hip, patting him on the cheek as she bent to rub at her daughter’s sticky face with a baby wipe, ignoring the frustrated whines and sighs of the toddler in her grip. Eggsy watched them fondly as his numb fingers fumbled with the knot of his tie, and as he huffed at started pulling – only making the knot tighter – his mum tutted and dropped the baby wipe, reaching out to undo it for him with a grin. Eggsy fought his own grin as he raised his chin, trying to appear as put upon as possible, but couldn’t find the snort of laughter that caught in his throat as Michelle folded the tie neatly in her hand, only to toss it into a plastic bag on the counter. Eggsy had no doubt the rest of his suit would follow, and resolved to at least find a spare coat hanger for the jacket.

His grin fell at her expectant silence. “Well?” she ventured hesitantly, hopefully.

Eggsy shrugged and tried to keep the disappointment from clouding his flippant smile. “Who wants to work for shitey old Primark anyway?” Michelle’s heart went out to her son, seeing him slumped against the counter with a despondent frown, but she knew the last he needed was pity from her. Eggsy jumped as she clapped her hands together. “Never mind, love– let’s get this monster cleaned up, eh? Have to pick the car up from Micky at two.”

Eggsy’s second attempt to retrieve his sister was thwarted by a sharp smack from his mum, as she shooed him into his room to change. He peeled the layers of wet cloth from his shaking frame and rubbed himself dry with the towel he’d discarded that morning. He emerged from his room, wet suit draped over one arm, dressed in the oldest, shoddiest tracksuit he had, and preened as his silent protest was answered by a wrinkle in his mother’s nose.

“Why you gotta wear that ratty old thing? Honestly Eggs…”

She trailed off as her eyes picked apart every tattered seam and mud stain.

Eggsy narrowed his eyes. “Why do I have to go to this weddin’?” he challenged.

“I could’a sworn I thrown that out last week,” Michelle muttered, ignoring her son with a shrug and turning her attention to his shoes. She didn’t blanch at the sight of them, so Eggsy figured they passed muster.

“Mum?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Why do we have to go so early?”

Michelle shrugged as she pottered off to gather Sophie’s little weekend bag – organised and packed with an astonishing, military efficiency – and her own bulging case – stuffed haphazardly to the brim with all manner of useless tat she’d probably only use half of – calling over her shoulder as she lugged both through her bedroom door.

“Emma needs my help with the venue. ‘Parently they’re great wi’ food, but ain’t got a clue ‘bout tables, or flowers or, ye know, all the rest.”

Eggsy took the bag from her – grunting and eyeing her sheepish grin at the weight of it – and dropped both bags by the front door. “Yeah, okay – but why am I goin’?”

Michelle fished Sophie’s car seat from the ironing cupboard, lifting her daughter into it and settling her with another packet of squishy yoghurt, and a soft poke to the ticklish spot under her chin. “’Cause I thought it’d be nice, all of us – we ain’t had a proper ‘oliday since…”

She grew quiet, gripping the corner of the table and frowning at the rings in the water stained-wood.  _Since before Dean,_ Eggsy’s mind supplied.

His mum’s shitey boyfriend – and, unfortunately, the father of his sister – was currently a year into his fourteen year sentence for the possession and supply of a fairly shoddy batch of cannabis. Eggsy’s thumb brushed across his mum’s cheek, and at her grim smile, he sought to distract her by holding out his dripping suit. She snapped from her stupor as she took it from him, peering closely at her handiwork. “Did the sticking hold up?”

Eggsy nodded as he folded the trousers and laid them in the bag with his tie. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Mmm,” she hummed with a frown, picking at the thread near the hem of one of his sleeves, “It’ll fit better later – Lord knows you’re a funny shape, my boy.”

She sauntered off to find her sewing kit, smirking at Eggsy’s indignant ‘ _Oi!’_ and returning to the bags at the door, considering how on earth she was going to cram it in along with everything else. “Just as tall as your dad, sure,” she called, glancing his way as he watched her struggle with the zipper, “but ‘ow am I supposed to get the width right if you keep gettin’ fatter.”

“S’not fat, mum,” Eggsy sniffed, squinting at Michelle when she straightened and tossed her hair over one shoulder. She cupped her hip in one hand, a lopsided smile curling her upper lip.

“Sorry, babes – just warn me next time we’re in _bulking season_ , yeah?”

_“Mum!”_

Michelle’s tinkling laughter washed over him, and late that afternoon, as they _finally_ pulled onto the M40 to begin their daunting four hour journey, she was still laughing at her own joke.

Five hours later – as Eggsy, red-faced, finished what wouldn’t be his last tirade damning the traffic, and ‘R’ drivers, and ‘ _David Fucking Cameron’_ – they pulled off the A483 and into the sleepy village of Rossett, breathing a sigh of relief as the train barriers came down behind them, sharing a smile at Sophie’s delighted bubble of laughter as they trundled over the train line. Just as well, Eggsy would not have survived a ten minute wait at the tracks.

High, dark, wood-gabledhouses greeted them on all sides as Eggsy got stuck in the first roundabout they came to - _‘Why do they even need one ‘ere - its so bloody small!_ ’ – while Michelle struggled to put them right and point her frustrated son towards the exit they needed. He pulled off to the left and glared at her, gripping the wheel as she shrugged and affectionately patted his arm. “Sorry babes, it’s been ages.”

Eggsy’s stiff legs cricked in protest as he shouldered open his door and stumbled into the gravel carpark of The Golden Lion. He considered the low afternoon light glinting off the immaculate, whitewashed stone, and was sure he’d found the anti-Black prince,  but with it’s sun-dappled ivy, neat flower baskets and turreted entrance, he figured it was utterly enchanting all the same.

“This where we stayin’ then, mum?”

Michelle was hoisting her daughter from the back seat, about to call over the car’s roof that their hotel was a little further along, when a high shriek came over the bonnet to her left. She dropped the seatbelt in fright and almost knocked her head off the roof as she leapt back from the car and rounded on the pub’s doorway, forgiving the surprise instantly at the sight of her sister – arms stretched wide and already rushing to meet her. The two women gripped each other tightly, whispering promises of talking later and offering commiserations on the subject of terrible ex-boyfriends, and congratulations on finding decent enough ones. Eggsy shuffled closer to the fuss, scuffing his toes along the stones, and barely managing to yank his hands from his pockets in time to catch his aunt as she threw herself at him, almost bowling him over with the force of her excited affection. He consented to the cheek patting and the assault of kisses and squeezing, and was only too happy for the attention to shift to Sophie as she gurgled happily away at the strange, excitable blonde woman. He was less than happy to discover that they still had to drive to the hotel.

With little more than a grumble – and a brave face for his aunt’s sake – Eggsy bundled them all back into the car and grit his teeth against the terrible directions being fired at him loudly from the back seat. They passed a pretty little church – almost swerving as Eggsy flinched in surprise at the manicured hand that shot out and clawed the air near his shoulder, _‘That’s it! That’s the church – isn’t it divine, Michelle?’ –_ with a stout, gothic steeple and a dusting of daisies blanketing the churchyard.

 _Kinda Notre Dame,_ Eggsy admitted with approval as he watched it disappear in his rear-view mirror.

Beside the church - nestled in a wide, beautifully wild garden that had far too many people tottering around in it for it to be completely private land – there stretched a vast, red manor, as country-gentry as country-gentry could be. It’s forest of chimneys towered above the rich, brick façade, and more windows than anyone could ever find any use for were thrown open to the world, inviting the crisp scent and crisper chill of the early autumn to drift through.

 _“Very Notre Dame,”_ Eggsy whistled, waving his mum off as his aunt batted his right shoulder and directed him through a gap in the drooping trees. They turned away from the red manor, and down another gravel lane, coming to a rest outside a more modest country house that seemed to be losing its battle with the cloak of red ivy curling against its sandstone walls.

Eggsy would have been perfectly happy to stay there, he mused much later, as he trudged through the damp grass – picking his way over wildflowers and wondering where on earth the path had gone -towards an amber light in a high doorway. Alas, the universe wasn’t done with him for the day, and it was only after another three hours of arguing with the hotel staff – and calming the mortified young man who’d made the mistake – that they concede the error with their booking, and agreed to take the only room left – a single, with a crib. As Michelle - grumbling about shoddy service and sure to start up the fight again come morning – gathered her bag and handed Sophie to her sister, Eggsy was backing the car along the drive and preparing to turn back onto the main road.

The manager had been terribly embarrassed by the whole encounter, no doubt because of the fuss – _unholy racket –_ his mum had made in the foyer, but had told him to head back to the red manor, and what was, unbelievably, an inn.

‘ _The Round Table,’_ she’d called it, as she handed him a slip of paper after scribbling down a note. “ _Harry’ll put you up for the same rate – he’ll not see anyone stuck if he can help it.”_

With a reassuring smile for his mum and aunt, and a kiss to the forehead for Sophie, Eggsy had taken off into the night to find this ' _Harry'_  - abandoning his car in the lay-by on the main road because he couldn’t seem to find the entrance – hopped the low fence closing off the garden, and was slowly making his way to what he hoped was the front door.The blonde huddled against the dark wood, suddenly regretting his thin tracksuit, and breathing a visible – literally, in the freezing October air - sigh of relief as he heard someone fiddling with the heavy locks on the other side.The door was pulled inwards, and a wave of warmth – accompanied by a flood of cheery light - washed over him.

He grinned hopefully at the puzzled young woman in the doorway, and offered the note, rubbing his hands over his upper arms as he watched her scan it with a frown. Her eyes seemed to light up as she folded it in half and offered a hand for his bags. “Hello – sorry, we weren’t expecting anyone else – but you _are_ very welcome. Come in, come in.”

She ushered him into the glow of the hallway and bolted the door behind him, putting all of her weight against the final iron bar, and huffed triumphantly when it obliged. She dropped the note onto the front desk and smiled at him over the top of a ledger. “I’m Roxanne, by the way, but you can call me Roxy.”

“Eggsy,” the blonde offered with a nod.

“Eggy?”

“No,” he snorted, “God no. _Eggsy_.”

She grinned, “Ah, sorry, ” scribbling down the contents of the note between the thin lines on the yellowed paper and, satisfied that she’d filled it in correctly – _‘_ I don’t usually do the front desk,’ she admitted _, ‘_ that’s Merlin’s job.’ _–_ led the awe-struck blonde up a beautifully carved staircase and along a narrow gallery.

Eggsy wished he had the time to admire the extensive collection of paintings, but was very grateful indeed when they came to a room at the end of the hall. Roxy passed him the key with a parting smile and bid him goodnight, nodding at his thanks and darting off down the corridor with a quick wave. He lowered himself onto the bed – stiffening in surprise at how far he sank into the decadently plush mattress – and gazed around a room that seemed far too lavish to sleep in. Every article – from the intricate plaster molding on the ceiling encircling hand-painted cherubim ballets, to the stark lines of gold thread sewn in delicate flowers against the field of red carpet. He lay back against gossamer sheets - sinking into pillows softer than any he'd ever felt, staring at the face of one particularly cheeky cherub - and supposed that maybe the universe had decided to be kind for once.

_Maybe._

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at [trashbagauthor](http://trashbagauthor.tumblr.com/) if you fancy updates about this fic verse, my other fics, and some original work of my own!
> 
> So this is what I've been promising for what feels like an age now, but it's finally ready to post. As the title suggests there'll be five chapters.


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